


Think happy thoughts

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I needed to get the past few months out of my system I'm sorry.Vent fic.TW// self harm, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts"Think happy thoughts." Gerard tried to tell himself over and over again, but it was futile. He wanted to give in to the sweet whispers. To grab his blade and never have to look back again.
Comments: 91
Kudos: 14





	Think happy thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry

No matter how hard he tried, Gerard couldn’t bring himself to rip his eyes away from the sketch in front of him. Everything about it seemed plain up ugly. No matter how hard he tried, it doesn’t look right. He scoffed at himself, his creativity left him weeks ago already, leaving him only with a handful of characters he made up for a comic he’ll never draw. He has drawn them for how long and he even fails at that. It was frustrating. 

Gerard kept on staring at the sketch. A million of thoughts rushing through his head. He really thought he had a talent for once. Something he wasn’t only mediocre at. Something that made him feel passionate. But how could he be passionate about something that only seemed to drain all of his energy out of him? This isn’t passion, this is torture. With a heavy sigh, Gerard let his pen fall on his desk. Trying was pointless, just like he was. 

Fuck. He wished the thoughts would dissolve, but he could do nothing but feel these thoughts gripping him slowly and swallow him whole. Gerard knew that these thoughts were irrational, yet he still felt his stomach drop as he told himself that he was worthless for not even being able to fucking draw. 

Gerard wanted to scream as the dark cloud of thoughts blocked him from accessing to himself. He hated feeling like this, so useless and weak. He couldn’t even stop him from himself. Had to watch as his mind shut him out and poisoned him with sweet whispers that told him to quit trying. 

“Think happy thoughts.” Gerard tried to tell himself over and over again, but it was futile. He wanted to give in to the sweet whispers. To grab his blade and never have to look back again. God, how close had he already been in his 18 years of life? How many times had he wanted to finish himself off? Too bad he was too much of a pussy to actually do it. 

He reached to his phone, the case the place where Gerard’s most prized possession was hidden. A small, rusty blade he retrieved from smashing a razor against the wall. The blade was almost dull but it did the job. 

Gerard twisted the blade in his hands, staring at it, considering it. He knew this was wrong. Hell he even felt bad for cutting. He was afraid of people accusing him of doing it for attention. No, the last thing he wanted was attention. Still, he felt like an attention whore as he wished for his brother to come to his room, to tell him that he will be okay. Fuck, why was he so pathetic? He couldn’t even live properly. 

“Think happy thoughts.” Gerard mumbled to himself again. The prayers of that rational part that wished to be okay went unanswered though. Gerard was alone in his basement. The house was quiet. Surely, no one would notice if Gerard died, he thought. His mother would be sad and shocked if she found out, but Gerard was sure she would move on eventually.

“Dear mother, I’m sorry how it had to end like this. But I couldn’t continue this. I-“Gerard stopped himself mid-sentence. He was not mentally writing suicide notes. He can’t, not yet at least. Gerard attempted harder at thinking positive. He knew he should distract himself, but there was no way he could face his brother or his friends like this. They already worry enough because of his inability to keep his mind straight.

Pushing the sleeve of his T-shirt up, Gerard lowered the blade to his upper arm. This way he could still wear normal clothes without anyone noticing the scars. With frantic movements he moved the small blade across his skin, watching the cuts fill with blood in fascination. He felt the red running down his arms and quickly grabbed some paper towels to wipe the blood away. After all, he wasn’t doing this for the blood. It was like pinching yourself in order to get out of a dreamy state. The stinging pain pulled him back to reality. 

Gerard pushed the sleeves down in a fast motion, the fabric felt burning on the fresh cuts. What had he done to himself again? Why was he not able to control himself?  
His eyes fell back on the sketch again. “All that-” he whispered to himself, “-all that pain, for a little art.”


End file.
